Onjelique Jackson Public Feed

Favorite Benchmark

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Statistics - Thompson on
​For our third quarter benchmark we had to create an instruction video for probability. This entailed writing out our own problems, solving them, and demonstrating them. This project was by far my favorite because it ave us freedom to choose and experiment different ways to show probability. It was a fun project to conduct. Throughout the project I learned the many different ways probability is involved in life, but more specifically in cards. SLA’s five core values were incorporated in the following way:
  • Inquiry: My group and I used inquiry to gain as much knowledge as possible about card, as well as the game Black Jack. We designed questions and inquired what information they gave us and if the questions and results could be better.We incorporated great questions and awesome results, due to inquiry.
  • Research: In order to play the game correctly we had to use and compare multiple websites as well as other card players, to find the most common way to play Black Jack. For actual work we researched common ways probability was used in a game of cards. We deducted that the best way was to find the probability of each players chance of 21 will determine which player will hit or miss. This vital piece of information would not have been used if would not have used research.
  • Collaboration: My group used collaboration as a huge component to this project. If everyone had not come together to shoot of the video, solve the probability problems, and brainstorm to make the project better; we would not have completed this project. There was so much teamwork involved to create the Black Jack Tournament, collaboration was a key player in making this happen.
  • Presentation: Presentation was involved in editing the footage that we shot from the Black Jack Tournament, as well as presenting it to the class. With such a responsibility, I have learned that getting as close to perfection as possible, makes a perfect presentation because you effort is evident.  
  • Reflection: In every project that we do in SLA, I reflect on what I have done and what could have been better. With this project, of course if I had more time the more effort toward perfection it would have been. But with the time and materials we had, we did very well. The next time I play Black Jack, or any card game, I will remember this probability project and used what I learned to win.


Site we used:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackjack
http://www.hitorstand.net/
http://www.blackjackinfo.com/
http://casinogambling.about.com/od/blackjack/a/bjbasic.htm
http://www.blackjacktactics.com/blackjack/odds/
http://www.blackjackrulesandstrategy.com/odds.shtml

I Remember...

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​I remember when you used to love me

You loved me like a bullet submerged in its chrome

You loved me more than the amounts of times my heart decided to beat

I remember your love was as dangerous as the Iraqi war soldiers surrounded by mines

…

 

I remember when I lost your love

It was like a 10-inch steel knife piercing in my chest and out my heart

It got lost along with White boys dignity the case in Gena 6

I remember that loving you, was worst than loosing you.

Gifted

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
 She was young. Six and a half to be exact. She had been seeing them for 3 years now. Today would be her first seeing in two weeks. Her sister gripped her hand tightly as the train approached. When the door opened she spotted. It was more real than the rest. It's cheekbones were high and sagged. It's hands were frail and the veins that protruded reminded her of a spiderweb. She stood directly in front of it, still with sister in hand. She stood there for a moment until the train began to move. She slowly raised her hand to the empty seat and stroked it's face. It smiled so lovingly and warm, it reminded her of Nana. A single tear rolled down her cheek and her sister looked at her questioningly. 
"She's so beautiful" she said, hand still held in the air
"Who"
She didn't answer. She couldn't answer. She didn't know who it was, she only knew that she was there for a reason. Only she didn't yet know for what...

(Let me know if there should be a continuation, I just made this up on the spot when I was on the train and I saw a little girl hug this old lady and her sister or some older person was with her.) 

The City Sounds Like...

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on

 

The city sounds like

Raaaauu Raaauuu Raaauu

Bittadatdatdat Bittadatdatdat

Guns Fire, ambulance, police, Fire Fighting, People Fighters

The city sounds like

“Oh baby you’d do it if you love me”

And

“It don’t feel the same with one on baby, so do it to me slowly”

The city sounds like

Babies crying dying and “Honey I just ‘came out’ to my family”

The city sounds like

Thighs rubbing together with slurpings of Sprite from McDonalds with a side of a Big Mac

The city sounds like

“Can I have some change please, please I gotta feed my family”

“Trick give me my money by tomorrow or I’ll cut yo ass!”

The city sounds like

Empty promises from crack feigning mothers like

“Afternoon delight

Try not to fright baby you know I love you

Now sleep

Sleep and don’t worry about me

Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning

And if I get to see the sun again

I’ll give you the world…

I promise”

The city sounds like

(Mouthing) “Can you hear me?”

(Motioning: banging on glass) “Can you hear me?”

(Whisper): “Can you hear me?”

(Normal tone): “Can you hear me?”

(Yelling): “Can you hear me?! I will no longer go unheard by those who oppress and depress me!”

(Normal tone): “Can you hear me?”

(Whisper): “Can you hear me?”

(Mouthing) “Can you hear me?”

The city sounds like

“Extra Extra read all about it! Paris Hilton Finally gets some talent, Oprah gains 60 pounds for the 80th time, Saw 93 in theaters now near you! World Peace continues to get pushed back and ‘shit like’ news continues to get front pages and Top Stories.

Extra Extra Gossip all about it!”
The city sounds like

‘Ziiippp’ “Ok Big daddy, you got what you wanted, that’ll be $200 baby…cash or credit?”

The city sounds like

A life undone

With obstacles and trials

Victory and the overcoming

Without this the city, your life would be nothing

The city sounds like

A life well done

I cried today...

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​​Onji, 

The admissions committee at New York University has carefully considered your application and supporting credentials, and it is with regret that I must inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to NYU this year.  I am so sorry about the disappointing news.

Please know that your application and supporting credentials were given full consideration.  As you likely suspect, we receive more applications from exceedingly qualified students than we are able to admit each year.  This year was no exception, as this was one of the most competitive admission processes in NYU’s history.  Unfortunately, even though students may be clearly competitive for admission based on their academic records and their test scores, we are only able to admit a fraction of qualified students given the space we have available in our classes at NYU.  Please know that whether or not you requested financial aid or on-campus housing did not factor into our decision-making process.

Given the volume of applications we receive each year – roughly 42,000 – please understand that we do not have an appeal process of any kind and we cannot reconsider your application this year.  You can certainly re-apply for admission as a transfer candidate, should you matriculate elsewhere next fall, but we cannot reconsider your application until then and we cannot evaluate any new credentials or materials at this time.

Again, I am sorry for the disappointing news.  My experience shows that the vast majority of students who are delivered similar news – myself included, as I was not admitted to my own first choice university more than 20 years ago – go on to be highly successful in their chosen fields of study.

On behalf of the NYU community, I wish you only the best as you continue your education.

Sincerely,

Shawn L. Abbott, Ed.D.
Assistant Vice President for Admissions

_____________________________________________________________

I was trying to get into my Temple account when I couldn't seem to log in. So I go to my e-mail to look for the e-mail that gave me my username and password, when I see I have 12 unread messages; one of which was from New York University - labeled "Your Admission Decision." Excitement surged through me, because this was it. This was what I'd been waiting for since December when I applied. Each day I thought, if not drooled over my future life in New York as NYU. And so I opened it. I read to "with regret," and my heart sank. First unsure how to take the heart stopping news, I continued to read down to the very last word, even though I knew what it would read. I had gotten the same letter from Villanova, but that was far less disappointing. After reading it I handed the computer to my sister for her to read. Then I turned and tears burned my eyes and washed my cheeks. I cried... a lot. Snowball came trotting over and jumped on my lap and tried to lick the tears away but I just laid her down and grabbed for my Kleenex. But no matter how many times I wiped the tears away, it didn't change the fact that my whole future has changed, whether for better or worse is irrelevant, it's how I'm suppose to plan my life from here on out. I was always the type to plan my future, or anything for that matter, but I'd only plan for the best outcome and never the a bad outcome be a reality. But now I know one of the most important lessons I could ever learn; plan for the best, the good, the bad, and the worst. That way, disappointment won't hurt nearly as bad.  

-Onji 

Dear Diary,

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​Sunday I realized that I have a fear of success. It's not so much the idea of not wanting to succeed, but the idea is the complete opposite of what my reality has been. For as long as I can remember theres been countless unkept promises (hence the reason promises mean little to me now), and many goals that have never been fulfilled. Now to me it's not who to blame for this being so. But it's more or less how to rid myself of this horrible habit, feeling, and restraint against my success. Usually my motto is like Nike, "just do it," and sometimes it works, but most times, not so much. But that ends up being a never ending vicious circle of a little something that then turns to a little nothing. For instance one of my goals is to spend everyday doing something constructive and not sleep my day a away. Constructive being writing, reading, practicing guitar, even homework. Instead I come home and say "I'll only shut my eyes for five minutes." Five minutes turn into twenty, then thirty, an hour, then three hours. I wake up in just enough time to walk my dog and go right back to sleep. Epic fail. I need to get out of this rut, the only problem is, I don't know how. 

Call of Duty: Black Ops

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
"Ooo can I try?" I say jumping like a jack rabbit on crack


"Here, you know how to do it?" Josh says handing me the remote


"No" I say still hopping

He gives me directions

"Okay I think I got it...ahh why did he shoot me!?"

"Because that's what they do"

"Ugh"

5 minutes and 8 deaths later

"Yay I finally got em'!"

"Ummm, Pookie, he was on your team"




My Soldier

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​I was looking in my google docs trying to find something to read and give me inspiration to write a poem (since I haven't written one in a while), and I came across this poem which I remember performing at Barnes N Noble. I was nervous out of my mind and ran through the lines so quickly I barely her the words leave my mouth. I was so shaky and absolutely hated myself after performing for not doing a better job. Nontheless it's one of my favorite poems, I think. : )

My Soldier

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

Not even from the eyes of death itself

Not the correlation of deprivation of life itself

Not even through the diagnosis of pain and suffering

Tears and Fears

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

I can’t say this to you when your conscious

So I whisper it to your subconscious 

“You’re my baby

My sunshine kiss

And if we get through this

I promise I’ll be the daddy you’ve always wanted

I’ll take you to the park and slide down the slide with you

Swing the swings with you

No longer allergic to a smile

I’ll put little bows in your hair and play dress up

Because you know I care

And I’ll watch you sleep and caress your beautiful soft hair

And whisper to you the advice you’ll never forget.”

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

When you dream of the sweat and blood dripping down your stomach

And fingertips

Because you clawed at your chest

Trying to find the superman sign

You’ve been dying to hide

And when you wake up

You’ll see the superman suit hung up because

He retired form saving the world

Retired from saving my baby girl

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

When you and your wife have been fighting

Because you’ve lost the meaning of love

Or lost the meaning of life

You can’t tell the difference because they both feel the same

You argue because you can’t fix the unfixable

And change the changed and unchangeable

You argue because you blame yourself for not replacing superman and saving the world

Saving your baby girl

You argue because you

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

Not even when you’re in the hospital

Waiting and listening to the beep beeps

And the heavy breathing of your baby girl

And you watch the shedding of her hair

And you let the time past

By counting the number of each hair from the beginning of the diagnosis

Of cancer

And every blink

Every breath

Feels like death

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

Nights past and the beeping slows

And your prayer speeds

But your faith leaves

And you wife grieves

Pacing back and forth becomes old news

And the cars passing by outside

And fainted chitter chatter in the alleys 4 miles away

Feels like murder

Because the whole world doesn’t stop to check on your baby

 

Never let a soldier see you cry

Her days continue to count down

And the rounds of whiskey make him immune to relief

Immune to life

And your wife sits outside of room 111C

With your baby girl inside

Because she can’t bare to see the red and purple rings grow around her eyes anymore

But you sit next to her in he last grateful breaths

And beep.

Though the beep never completes

And as painful as death itself

The tears flow like rivers

But it’s ok

Because

My Soldier has never seen me cry

ADM: Attention Deficit Meditation

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​I decided I wanted to try Meditation. I thought it would be cool to locate the depths of soul and ask it questions only God and the universe can answer. And then I would rename myself Marlow Sunshine, talk with an extension on each word and practically hover when I float. Because that is what people who Meditate learn to do. So I clear my room so that my "sacred place" has plenty of room for the impact of the Meditation, if there is one. Then I wonder if I should turn on some soft Robin Thicke or JT jams, but decided against it because I've seen that in the movies. Then I get into my Meditation position, I decided I would stand because I'm not flexible enough to sit comfortably in the pretzel stance. Also my feet and legs fall asleep and I didn't want that to interrupt me in the middle of my soul search, it is most certainly inappropriate. So I stand completely still and breathe, when I realize how soft my carpet actually is, how annoying the tag on my wool sweater inch unbearably bad, and the is an unnatural wedgie forming. So I lose the sweater, remove the wedgie and begin again, only this time standing on my bed so I won't get distracted by the carpet. Finally I try again. Breathing a tad quickly, but steady, and slowly bouncing on my Postrpedic. Then eventually I end up jumping on it, entranced in past times I used to jump on the bed as a rebellious 13 year old. Good times. Then, once again I realize my mission and decide it's probably best to just sit in a chair and meditate there. When I hop down i get to my chair and become mesmerized by my supercool screensaver of spider-like mystical movements. After five minute of diligently watching the saver my phone ring and it's Jeff telling me he's outside and ready to head to the arcade. And well I figure there are chairs there, what better place to Mediate. 

The Real Me

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
I am suppressed. The real me. The me that hops up and down and waves my arms and pumps my fist and calls it dancing. The real me that cranks the music up to the point where my thoughts are just backdrop sounds that hop to the beat of the music as well. The me that believes music is life. That creativity is life. The me that used to believe that every writer should have a tattered leather bond journal that has the word “journal” in cursive on the front. It says I am mysterious, and well, I’m a writer. The me that usually hesitates to turn the corner in the case that I bump someone so hard that we nearly fall to the ground and my cool facade will be broken and I’ll be humiliated for life. The me that observes my friends and actually wonder if we’ll grow old together and still find that Spongebob and Patrick are funny even in our mid-eighties. I am suppressed because no one told me that it was okay to be myself. I don’t mean the sappy children shows that’s about Suzy finally gaining friends because she got the courage to ask to play blocks with the other children and that act alone defines her “individuality” as a child. No. No one has ever told me that it’s okay to not actually know how to dance like the video girls or the celebrities that dance in super exclusive VIP darkrooms in mega-VIP clubs in the heart of Hollywood or New York City. No one has ever told me that is okay not to have long flowy hair that permanently smells like strawberries and champagne. No one ever told me that it’s okay to not actually enjoy taste of beer and cigarettes at huge party that you don’t really feel comfortable in. If I had have known that it was okay to be the ordinary girl who knows how to just be herself, who is not really a party girl, who has an unrealistic dream to be a real writer with a real career, the girl who reads 20 books within a month and somehow manages to have some sort of social life; If would have known this, I would have found out who the real Onjelique was a long time ago. However, in retrospect, it’s better late than never. 

Nightmares

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​I used to have nightmares of Dinosaurs knocking down my door and tearing me limb from limb. Of course this was when I was only five and didn't know dinosaurs no longer exist. 
By the time I was seven, I would have nightmares of mummy arms that were slightly unwrapped from it's ancient towel wrapping, showing a semi-deteriorating arm and fingers waving and carving my name my old hard wooden floors. Of course that was only seven and I didn't know that mummies lived all the way in Egypt buried under grown in royal booby-trapped secret chambers. 
By the time I was twelve I watch Jaws for the first time and had nightmares of giant sharks bursting into my room in the exact place that the dinosaurs used to. The sharks would eats away at my bed until I was climbing up the headboard onto the bookshelf and dangling from the ceiling fan. 
Now I have nightmares of not having enough money for prom. Growing a huge zit before a job interview that I've been waiting for since I even knew what job interviews was. And becoming a real life hero and fighting off zombies and vampires, because these are things that grown up nightmares are suppose to consist of. 

Chapter 1 - Momma

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​Since I was three years old I was a ginny pig. Being poked and examined pried and over researched, all because I was a baby genius, and not to mention a miracle. When I was two years old I fell off a 10-foot jungle gym head first into the rocky coaly round, immediately knocked unconscious. I was in a coma for 3 weeks. And two years prior to the accident I was a normal two-year old. I ran back and forth, in circles until I got dizzy enough to fall and knock my head against any object close by and then cry endlessly until my cheeks were even a rosier red and until my eyes went from frosted grass green, to flaming orange. Then I would get back up and do it all over again. I ate chipped paint off the wall after I drew a princess in a castle with a unicorn army, or what most people saw, scribbled chicken scratch. It was the perfect childhood.

            When I woke up from the coma I saw a familiar face, my nanny, then a face that wasn’t so familiar, nor pleasant, my mother’s.  She had the same rosey red cheeks, and curly, frizzy hair. She had the same frosty grass green eyes, but with busted red veins surrounding them, and a glossy film coating them, which wasn’t from tears of the very near death of her own daughter. My mother had on black pants, a black plain tee shirt, and an oversized black corteroid material jacket with a music pin tilted diagonally on the right-hand collar of the jacket, it was my fathers. She also wore silver chain with a pistol hanging downwards with hearts spilling from the nose of the gun. 

            “Hey hun, how’s my baby doing?” my nanny said caressing my hair with deep uncomfortable eye contact. I ignored her and stared at my mother, whom I haven’t seen for days. She walked to the side of my bed and put took off her chained gun and placed it around my neck, kissed my forehead and turned around and walked out.

“She’ll be back, tell me how you’re feeling” the nanny pried.

“I’m hungry, is Mommy getting me food?”

“I don’t know honey, I don’t know. You hit you’re her head really hard but the doctor said you’ll be ok when you wake up, do you understand?”

“Can we get a piano?”

“HA you really did hit your head hard missy, no one knows how to play the piano, well besides your fath--- no one knows how to play the piano.”

“I do”

“Don’t be silly”

The doctor entered, he had a huge mustache seems malnourished and seemed so old he could drop dead any minute. “Hello there, little lady.” He walked over and checked my pulse, flashed a flash light in my eyes, and checked the 10 stitches on the left side of my temple.

“You’re looking good I think we can get you home today,” he turns to the nanny “just keep her on her meds and make sure she gets plenty of rest and she’ll be fine.” He took on last glance at me, smiled, and walked out.

“Alrighty lets get you home”

Absence

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
​It all started yesterday morning when I was finally woken up by my alarm clock that's been playing "Fireworks" by Katy Perry and Chio talking about the upcoming episode of Jersey Shore. As I rolled out of bed I felt sore and achy, but instead of feeling sad I was ecstatic that my new work-out routine was actually working. So I began my normal stretching routine when I realize I can't quite turn completely side to side. Strange. I make my way to school and I am continuously reminded of the horrible ache in my back. And of what my optimistic attitude hope would happen (it would most certainly get better), it most certainly did not. Instead it got unbearably worse. At this point, near the end of the day, I can barely stand. So I call my dad and he tells me he's working and can not pick me up. Then Deja calls my brothers girlfriend, Nina, to come pick me up because I refused to call because I didn't want to inconvenience her. When Deja hands me the phone I wait to see if she'll pick up. She doesn't. However, she immediately calls back and Ricky picks up. 

"Hello...yea" then he laughs and hands me the phone

"...this grown man on the phone, Where is Pookie!"

"Are you still talking, he's not on the phone anymore"

"Ooooh my goodness who is that picking up your phone?"

"Ricky"

"Oh, I was about to say who this grown man picking up your phone, Hahaha, but wassup Pookie"

I then explain to her the situation

"Pookie! This could be serious. You know what, call your mom and see if she wants me to take you to the hospital, how could this happen!"

"I fine I mean you can finish what your doing and then come up here."

"No, Pookie I'm on my way now"

In about an hour and a half I'm stiffly laying in my bed singing also to Natasha Bedingfield "Strip Me" waiting on my mom to tend to what appears to be a back spasm caused by the unknown and provoked by every movement. 
 

The Girl I'll End Up Becoming

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
I used to look at myself in the mirror and wonder if I would end up being that girl that masks my face in make-up paired with a mini skirt and a too revealing tank top and over accessorized with over sized chunky meaningless jewelry; the kind of girl that copies her friends with activities that every parents would shake their hands and wag their fingers to, the kind of girl that knows for a fact that mimicking a clique is not quite her thing, but does it anyway because she was never taught to take a stand and be herself, or would I end up being the girl who does not quite know who she is and decides to wear black pants, black shirts, black hair, black lipstick, black everything - the girl who wears black until she finally realizes that the sun actually shines and black does not reflect quite well on it so finally I end up being the girl who discovers that there are actually fashion guides on every newsstand, billboard, and the 1980’s yearbook that was lost in my mothers’ boxes labeled “The Golden Days,” and with each new discovery I end up being the girl who dresses with a modern classic twists inspired by Lady Gaga and Twiggy (two complete different generations and styles but together make me look like I have actually found what individuality looks like), with loads of mascara to make my eyes look like huge elaborate circles on butterfly wings, with a classic black cropped cardigan, bold shoulders and rhinestones in a floral pattern, and under it a button down ruffle shirt tucked into carrot top pants and beautifully shines nude pumps that screams “I’m classy but not in the classic way!” and finally I put my hair in a high messy bun with dangling pearl earrings; this is when I look at myself in the mirror once again and I, after what seems like years of trying to identify who I am, I finally recognize my own reflection; I know longer wonder what type of girl I will end up becoming, because I have finally found her.

Prologue by Onji J

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Storytelling - Chase on
It was a dry windy morning in Wisconsin. Eggs, bacon, and the smell of blueberry pancakes rose through the cracks under the door, up to my nose. I woke up one minute before my alarm went off because of the very temping aroma. “Good morning  folks, time to rise and shine and jam with the top 25 hit pop songs…” were the first words I heard as I clumsily arose out of my bed. I could hear mom’s singing to the tunes that were playing on the same radio station. I walked downstairs to the kitchen to see mom and her new hubby dancing like the cool kids in Grease to Britney Spears 35th hit song. When my mom noticed I was standing there she ran over and kissed on the forehead and I began to sing and dance with my mom and Jack. 

Beep, Beep, Beep, I slapped the snooze button once again. And there was no smell of eggs, bacon, or blueberry pancakes rising through my door and into my nose, only the smell of old cigarettes and whiskey. I’d been having the same dream for the past year, hoping it would become my reality. Though I know it never would. I headed downstairs to see my mom passed out on the couch. “Mom, momma, wake up, it’s 8:00, it’s time for you pills.” I pushed and pushed until finally WAP! 
“Why you always gotta wake me up this early, huh!?” Momma snapped back. The only thing that faces her was my burning red cheek. This had been such routine that I only felt numb, both physically and mentally, and the walls didn’t seem to spin anymore, guess they’ve gotten use to it too. “Momma, take your pills.”

“I don’t won’t to!”

This time she breathed in my face allowing her raspy voice to force the putrid smell of day old whiskey, beer, and henisy up my nostrils. Dismissing her outburst I go into the kitchen and grab bread and medicine out of the half broken cabinet and walked back towards her. She tried to sit up on her own but couldn’t, so I sat next to her so she can rest her body on me. “Eat this.” She grabbed the bread and gobbled it down in seconds. “Take this” she shoved the pill in her mouth and I hold up a cup of water to her mouth to wash it down. She swallowed with resistance. She stared at me blankly and slurred  “This will be you pretty soon, yup, a low-life nothing, your already stupid, what else are you going do? Go to college HA!” She busted out in a hysterical laughter.

 “Yea, momma, yea” Tears almost formed in my eyes, but instead of crying I just kissed her on the forehead and said I love you. Then tore off the a label from an old water bottle from on top of our grand piano, and simply wrote goodbye. I walked out the front door and never looked back. 

Curiosity And Humans

Posted by Onjelique Jackson in Science and Society - Best on

Topic: Why, as humans, must know the answers to questions such as evolution and other scientific theories?

David Quammen's "Was Darwin Wrong?" immediately allowed me to raise the question, why can't we just agree to disagree? Well, Quammen mentions that if you are skeptical by nature and are unfamiliar with science then those are the people who are unaware of the overwhelming evidence and confess that evolution is "'just' a theory." This statement allows me to believe that every human being has evolved to be curious, but to different degrees. Without our curiosity we would have built the civilization way have today. It probably all began in the following mind processing:
  • Cavemen accidentally discover fire
  • Is intrigued by the discovery
  • Leads to creation and discovery
  • Because of the new found way of life, there needs to be a new form of communication
  • Experiments with manual communication
  • Then to verbal communication
  • New form of communication spread and changed with different communities
  • After learning a more efficient way to communicate, a "civilized" way of living begins
This is my theory of how curiosity has evolved humans to be the way that they are. However we are still evolving with curiosity each day. From children and imagination, to doctors and scientist forming new cures for diseases. And soon, in 2050 we just may have an entirely new way of living, due to curiosity.


Citations:
http://www.personal-development.com/chuck/curiosity.htm
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0411/feature1/fulltext.html
http://science.howstuffworks.com/environmental/life/evolution/curiosity1.htm
http://www.lorencoleman.com/cabinet_of_curiosities/curiosity2.jpg
curiosity2
curiosity2
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